Alohomora Closet!
by almatlansag
Summary: Featuring hotpants.
1. Nineteen Years Flafter

With their 74 wholesome, magical, healthy, white middle-class children streaming out in front of them running towards the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Ginny emerged from the barrier to platform nine and three-quarters, pushing the stroller containing triplets Twangle, Flangle and Dwabe in front of them. The platform was extremely busy, no doubt in part due to the presence of Ron and Hermione, whose 109 super-intelligent, red-haired, equally middle-class children were running around all over the platform colliding with objects and one another, like a Brownian motion of magical incest, a cautionary Dali triptych of the dangers of interbreeding. As the Hogwarts Express steamed down the platform and came to rest before the buffers, a suicidal middle-aged George Weasley, traumatized by his disfigurement and the loss of his twin, threw himself under its wheels with a scream followed by a brief series of bone-splitting cracks, although no-one paid any attention, as George was not part of the main narrative.

As Harry went over to talk to Hermione and Ron, Ginny left again in order to go and knit, clean, take care of some supermarket shopping, practise being homely, cook a roast dinner and have 12 more children before Harry returned that afternoon. Being the perfect wife and mother to a modern day David-Copperfield-meets-Jesus-Christ was no walk in the park. She popped another valium and squeezed her way back out through the barrier into the Muggle station, taking care not to catch her 3-meter pregnancy bump in any openings. However, all was in vain; the babies had grown such in weight that she could no longer keep her balance, and toppling over, she rolled across the station, out of the automatic doors and down the steps, where for the next two and a half hours, she rolled out of control through the streets of London like a giant russet bowling ball, sending traffic and pedestrians flying, before eventually becoming wedged in the entrance to a London Underground station, from which some Muggle firemen had to free her with hydraulic cutting equipment. Fortunately, Ginny was spared embarassment, as since she was not part of the main narrative, no-one actually noticed any of this.

"Oh dear," said Hermione twonkingly, "I seem to have flinkled my doogum."


	2. Nineteen Years Flafter: 2

After the Hogwarts Express had chuffed off into the distance, Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to go to a Muggle theme park. They Apparated there, had a look around, found the biggest rollercoaster, and Apparated again to the front of the queue. They climbed into their seats, lowered the harnesses and the rollercoaster took off.

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" screamed Hermione gleefully.

Harry was similarly overjoyed. "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" he shouted out, his bushy hair flying around in the headwind. "Hooraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" yelled Ron excitedly. The other passengers of the rollercoaster were also enjoying the ride. All that could be heard was "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Hooraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

How many pages?

No sooner had the rollercoaster reached the start, than the threesome decided to go round once again.

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" shouted Hermione as the rollercoaster took off rapidly for its second run. "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

How many pages?

Unfortunately, in the excitement, Ron had forgotten to lower the safety harness, and was thrown from the rollercoaster on a sharp bend. "Rooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon!" yelled Hermione and Harry in unison. "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" "Rooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon!"

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllppppppppp!!" yelled Ron as he flew through the air, before his head hit a metal pylon and exploded. "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!" screamed Hermione in distress. "Rooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon!!!!!!!!"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry, "now we can elope".

Oh, publish.


	3. Alohomora Closet!

Later that day, Harry and Hermione went to a muggle tea-room in London to recover from the day's exertions. It was rather grand; a high, ornate ceiling, tall, snug wooden benches, smartly dressed waiters, and a tempting variety of cakes on display at the counter. Hermione ordered a pot of tea and a plate of scones with cream and strawberry jam for the pair of them. Harry also ordered a slice of Esterházy cake, a Hungarian speciality he'd grown fond of in the years after leaving Hogwarts before returning to marry Ginny, when he worked as a magical rent boy on the streets of Budapest. But that's another fan-fiction altogether. The pot of tea arrived; Harry strolled over to the stand where a selection of the day's newspapers were provided, and returned to the table with "The Times". He was immediately struck by a small story in the corner of the front page. Its title was "Alohomora Closet!"

"It says here Dumbledore's gay!"

"Oh, that's interesting," replied Hermione. "That would explain the shelves full of Eurovision Song Contest memorabilia in his office. Who's said he's gay?"

"J.K. Rowling, at some thing in America. Apparently she also said that Neville married some boring person. What's the Eurovision Song Contest?" he said, passing the newspaper over to Hermione.

"Oh, it's a muggle thing. My parents watch it, it comes on muggle television once a year. Every country in Europe sends a pop song and the public gets to vote for the winner. It's a load of shit," she said, with a dismissive nod of the head. Harry thought it sounded rather interesting. Memories of his days as an undercover magical rent boy on the streets of Budapest began to reawaken. But that really is another fan-fiction altogether. It really is. I won't mention it again. Well, I might.

"But you know, it doesn't really answer the question the kid asked," said Hermione, now that she'd read the full article. "The kid in the audience asked if Dumbledore ever found his true love, and we still don't know. The thing with Grindelwald sounds very much like an unrequited, one way thing. Grindelwald probably wasn't even gay."

"There's something about those straight emo boys," said Harry, "they get their hooks in you and you just can't let go. There's something about the darkness, the intensity, the redeemability, the vulnerability, the wounded little animal inside the angry outer shell. I can imagine how Dumbledore must have felt."

"What?" said Hermione, somewhat startled and bewildered.

"Oh, nothing," said Harry, "I was just reminiscing about my time as a rent boy on the streets of Budapest. I shan't mention it again."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." said Hermione. "How is your bum these days? Recovered?"

But Harry wasn't listening any more. His mind had wandered onto another possibility.

"You know, I wonder if that spell actually works?"  
"Which one? You don't mean the Alohomora one?"  
"Yeah. I know the copy editor probably only meant it as a joke, and it's actually a really clever one, but do you think it might actually work? Do you think we should give it a try?"

"I don't know whether we're in that place, whether we should risk it. I mean, if it did actually work... it would open a whole can of worms about the ethics of outing people. What exact effect would it have? We don't know!" Hermione was concerned, but more than that, fascinated. Her mind was boggling the sociological effects of performing such a spell.

"Sod that," said Harry decisively, whipping out his 11 inches of wood and grasping the shaft firmly in both hands. It reminded him of his days as a magical rent boy on the streets of Budapest. "Alohomora Closet!"

The effect was immediate. The café doors flew open and a dramatic gust of wind blew through the room, followed by a brief blast of disco music; then the scene dissolved, and Harry found himself in darkness. It was a sort of warm, squishy darkness. And if you think that sounds ominous, you'll probably enjoy the rest of this story very much. It's full of cake, hotpants and Republican senators. Reminds me of my time as a rent boy on the streets of Budapest. Ah, the days...


	4. Alohomora Closet! Part 2

Hermione was no longer there. No-one was there. All Harry could sense, in the darkness, was a slight moistness and sweetness in the air. He put his hand out in front of him; it brushed against something, moist and delicate. And slightly sticky. Harry brought his hand back to his mouth and ran a finger along his tongue, tasting the mysterious, gloopy residue. 

It tasted like Esterházy cake.

Harry was inside a giant cake.

Why Harry was inside a giant cake, he did not know. What this had to do with the spell, he did not know. "Hello?" he ventured. There was no response. He felt all round; cake was on all sides, encircling him. Above his head was some sort of card covering, and above that, probably more cake. He was in a giant cake. It was bizarre. In lieu of anything else, he took a handful from the side and started eating it.

"No! You must not eat the cake!" boomed a deep, frightening, thunderous voice from outside.

"God? Is that you?" squeaked a terrified Harry.

"No! Of course not! The Harry Potter books are religiously ambiguous, remember? Otherwise it'd affect sales! I'm not God!"

"Then who are you? And why am I in a big cake? And why, if I'm in a big stupid cake, can't I eat the stupid thing?" yelled Harry, increasingly confused and incensed.

"It'd spoil it," replied the voice calmly. "And I'm you. From the future."

"Well, that clears that up," said Harry, and continued to eat the cake regardless. The voice sighed in despondancy. "Oh well, then," it said. "Eat it if you want. But I should probably warn you of one thing."

"And what's that?" replied Harry indignantly.

"You're going to explode out of it in a few seconds. Oh, and you're dressed as a Bavarian," said the voice, now fading into the distance. "Anyway, good luck. I'm off back to the future now, I left one of the rings on the cooker on. Do have fun!"

"What? A what? Why am I -" Harry was filled with panic, confusion and questions, but there was no time for any of it, as a mechanism had just sprung beneath him in the base of the cake, and just as he felt down around him and discovered he was wearing a full lederhosen combo with embroidered shirt and traditional hat, he was launched at high velocity through the top of the cake and into the brightness beyond. Stardom awaited.


	5. Alohomora Closet! Final part

"It's a big gay party!" screamed Hermione. "Squee! Harry, wonderful to see you! You're covered in cake and dressed as a Bavarian! Fantastic! Here, have some crystal meth!"

Harry declined the meth and looked around him. He was on a big stage with lots of people. He turned back to Hermione.

"Is this because of the spell? Where are we? Does this mean that everyone's gay now?"

"No, not everyone," said Hermione reasonably, "Just everyone that was in the closet before to whatever degree, and people who would be gay in an ideal world. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck are over there stroking each other's torsos for everyone's entertainment; it's all very porno."

Harry looked round. They were. In fact, they were now tweaking each other's nipples and pouring beer over each other. It was indeed all very porno. Suddenly a large lesbian waving her fists in the air bounded into view.

"Hello Harry! So you're the one who performed the spell? Wonderful! I could kiss you, but you ain't got no tits to speak of. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Marija Serifovic, Serbia's most famous lesbian and winner of last year's Eurovision Song Contest. We're having a big gay party this evening and forever, and it's all thanks to you for performing the spell! In one foul swoop, all fear and homophobia in the world has been eliminated and everyone is happy with who they are! Especially me! It's wonderful! Thank you! Mmm, I'll kiss you anyway! You taste of cake, and Marija loves cake! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!!!!" Harry allowed Marija to eat the cake off his cheeks. She seemed to be enjoying it, even if he wasn't sure whether or not he was. A little bit of him was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two curiously-dressed older men making his way over to him; one was wearing a suit, tie and jacket above with nothing but red vinyl hotpants below, while the other was shirtless but wearing giant fluffy chicken trousers with big yellow chicken feet for shoes.

"There they are at last!" cried Hermione, "It's Larry Craig and Ted Haggard! They've been waiting all evening to come and thank you! Well, I think it was thank, I might have heard spank... anyway, me and Marija are off to catch what's left of the tuna buffet now, see you later!" They danced gleefully away as the men arrived.

"Harry," said Mr Craig, "I just wanted to thank you for what you did today. I've finally learned to be honest with myself and those around me. As has Ted here. I can't believe it took a magic spell performed by a fictional character to bring us this far. There's nothing wrong with being gay. Smoking pole is healthier than smoking cigarettes, as long as you don't try both at once. Me and Ted have been sixty-nining all evening, and I can honestly say I don't think either of us have felt so good in our lives. We're both red raw!"

Harry was glad to have helped, but felt somewhat that this was too much information. Mr Craig did look very silly in the hotpants, but as long as they were enjoying themselves, that was what mattered. He thought better of asking why Mr Haggard was wearing the bottom half of a chicken suit. Suddenly Lupin and Sirius came rushing over, despite both being dead.

"Isn't this great, Harry? We've been resurrected from the dead, and allowed to get it on with each other! How hot and hairy is that?"

"It's really good to see you guys again," said Harry. "I'm glad you're happy. So, have you have much of a look around here yet? Who else is gay?"

"Oh, most of the US leadership. John Howard, the prime-minister of Australia. Peter Hain, the British MP. Oh, and you should see what Steve Carell and Seth Rogen are doing to each other over there. It's disgusting, but soooooooooo good." And with that, the music started.

And so it was told that everyone danced around to techno for the rest of the evening; cake was thrown, babies were made and there was no such thing as sexually-transmitted diseases. Everyone was happy. Even Ann Coulter, for she had finally gotten some ass and lost all of her bitterness in an orgy of sexual bliss. Reminded by the Esterházy cake of his days as a magical rent boy on the streets of Budapest, Harry gave up the last remaining shreds of his fragile heterosexuality and threw himself into the midst of the party. As it turned out, Cedric Diggory had also been resurrected from the dead, and it seemed the two were made for each other. They made sweet magical lurve to each other all evening under a big disco ball while house music and russo-pop played in the background. All was well.

And I guess that's the end. So what happens? Well, Harry and Cedric open a cake shop together. That's it. Disappointing, nay? Sigh...

I love you all.


End file.
